


Dust to Dust

by StrawVally_Cream



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cliche, Cliffhangers, F/F, F/M, Kings & Queens, M/M, Pretty bad but what can you do, Princes & Princesses, Short & Sweet, This was a thing i wrote for fun lol, its not AWFUL, just a bit rushed, medieval setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawVally_Cream/pseuds/StrawVally_Cream
Summary: A short story about a Queen, a Princess, and not much else.Not Fanfiction, and will probably stay that way.
Kudos: 2





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! this is just a short silly thing I wrote a while ago, and I felt like posting it here!

Someone steps on her foot almost as soon as she steps into the crowd. Still, Darcia doesn’t pause, scampering down the cobblestones of the main street with the wig around her scalp as tight as the feelings around her heart.

She ambles away from the castle, trying to steel herself over her decision. Coralynn will probably be reassigned to her son August, she thinks, and work as his personal maid. _King_ Harold (Because he is _the_ king, and no one will let her forget that.) will get over the embarrassment soon enough, will go back to partying and chasing skirts and all the things that made her fall in and out of love with him. The ladies of the court will titter about her some more, tell rumours of her running off with a lover after being jilted, tell tall tales of romance to keep themselves entertained in their boring ritual that made Darcia’s life a fiery hell. August, bless his soul, will cry. Barely five years old, he will bawl his eyes out until his governess calms him, and he will not understand her reasons. But he will live comfortably, and one day become king━a _good_ king━and that is enough for her.

From somewhere around her left a shoulder rocks into her, knocking her off-kilter. 

“Excuse me!” she snaps absentmindedly, hot flames of annoyance licking the edges of her fraying mind. Her eyes scan the sea of people for the culprit, but they’re long gone. Instead, she sees a woman clutching the arm of a child, struggling to keep hold of the little girl being carried away by the pressure of the crowd. Before she can see any more the ocean swallows them up and out of her sight. Darcia looks away.

As a stray ray from the rising sun hits her eyes, she thinks it’s around now that Coralynn is stepping into her chambers, moving down the curtains in preparation for another day. She thinks of her son and maids sneakily letting him sleep five more minutes. She thinks of Harold and his butlers, of tentatively sent presents every morning to make up for an unapologetic mistake. Her face sours, and she walks forward.

The people in the mob move on, unaware and uncaring of the turmoil in the mind of their queen.

A small, warm body collides with her legs. She feels tiny hands clutching her coat as she looks down and sees the little girl from before, tearfully pressing against her knees as a large man holds the neck of her dress.

Instinctively, Darcia’s arms wrap around her back, clawing at the man’s hand and leaving scratches down his wrist until he lets go and sinks into a busy corner of the road. She hefts the girl up on her hip and moves out of the chaotic stream, losing a few buttons along the way. 

The little girl sobs into her shoulder all the while, digging sharp, minute nails into her clothes. Even once they’re out of a dangerous spot, it takes a while to calm her down. Darcia’s anxious looks don’t help, causing more tears to flow and more stress in her head. Finally, once the girl is reduced to sniffles and her cloak has more snot in it than she’d prefer, Darcia speaks.

“What’s your name?”

For a moment, she thinks the little girl will start crying again when fat tears bubble up in the corners of her eyes, but thankfully she doesn’t. She mumbles something too low for Darcia to hear, then seems to gather courage and says, “Rosa.”

Darcia bites back a smile, “That’s a pretty name. Do you know where your mom is, Rosa?”

“ _N_ o, I don’t!” Rosa hiccups, “...she was there, then I-”

Darcia frowns, looking over Rosa’s hair. She sees the woman moving through the edges of the street, sending panicked looks into the crowd and around the bordering stalls. They lock eyes for a split second, and Darcia sees the abject terror on her face move into relief. 

Darcia lets herself smile, and takes a small golden coin from her pocket.

“Give this to your mother,” She says, pressing it into Rosa’s hand. She gives it a few moments, allowing the woman to run forward and stay closer before letting the girl go and moving back. She hears the mother burst into tears behind her, making her heart squeeze painfully. The motion of the people fits her in, dragging her away.

A lull wraps itself around her thoughts, and she scratches at her linen shirt, exposing the ends of the threads.

Later, when the shirt starts falling apart at the seams and all her pants have holes in them, she works on breaking the habit. There are no more seamstresses to fix her outfits; her fingertips have scars all over before Darcia gives up and settles to just buy new pairs.

She tries again, once the land is bought and she’s exhausted after a fruitless attempt at plowing it. She manages to stitch one hole, and though it’s clumsy, and comes undone around five hours later when she puts the shirt on, Darcia feels a small swell of hope low in her stomach.

* * *

The branch breaks, dropping apples and Darcia herself to the ground in a loud thundering crash that drowns out Carter’s squeaky laugh. Darcia feels the air being squeezed out of her lungs as dampness quickly spreads down her back, stems of squashed fruit poking her all over. Emory sighs, tugging the broken branch out of her hands and tossing it at Carter, who fails to dodge it and groans. 

“I don’t need to tell you how dumb that was, right?” Emory deadpans, snatching Darcia’s hand and hauling her up only to let go as if burned, “Gross, you’re sticky now.”

“Shut up,” Darcia says, gingerly grabbing the edge of her shirt and flapping it. Dirt-covered mush flies off, landing on his arm. Emory scoffs, flicking it off with a fingernail.

The smell of apples on her nose, Darcia picks up the ones that were not squished by her fall, dropping them carefully into a basket after checking for bruises. Carter grumbles at Emory and picks up the golden ribbons, haphazardly tying one around his wrist.

“Oh holy Adael, you’re hopeless,” Emory undoes the ribbon and ties it into a neat little bow, patting Carter’s arm once he’s done. Carter's face bursts out in a flush. He mumbles gratefully, rushing out towards the main house and throwing the satin over all the overhangs. 

Darcia snickers, “Isn’t that a little mean?”

“Only if I’m not interested,” Emory shakes his head, smiling.

“Ugh, and you said _I_ was gross.”

Emory waves her off, hefting the filled basket, “I’ll take this to Mayor Gardner. You should get a head start on your parade costume.” 

Emory winks at her as he walks away. Darcia immediately hates it.

Regardless, she heads to the shed. Along the way, she looks around at the preparations for the year’s harvest festival. The trees of her orchard are clad in brilliant colours, greens and oranges and reds that stitch over the gnarled trunks in intricate yet simple patterns. Between the groves, the young men of the town practice for the sword fighting tournament, dexterously weaving through the trees and avoiding roots as nimbly as weasels.

Darcia sighs when one of them crashes into one of the taller trees with a loud _crunch_ , leaving long, flat gashes and bumps all over the sides. She hears the group with him laugh in well-meaning mockery. She sees her workers━including Emory and Carter, those lazy boys━sitting at a cider barrel, filling mugs and passing them around, spilling cider all over their clothes and the ground making it slippery with sticky mud that will take ages to wash out. 

Once she reaches the small, wooden building behind her farmhouse, she sees a hooded figure leaning over the window. She’s too far away to notice much, but they are small, having stood on the piled up firewood to be able to peek into her workspace.

Darcia rolls her eyes and whoops, a loud, obnoxious sound that startles several people nearby. The person jumps, stumbling over their own feet and falling onto the moving logs, rolling slowly and coming to a stop at Darcia’s feet.

Darcia looks down, and her breath catches in her throat.

Sandy hair covers in pebbled and twigs burst from the hood, springy and fluffy even while filthy. The woman’s freckled face is splattered with mud and clay, in places that hinted at a working stain of sorts. Her lips are marred by an odd smile, almost a smirk, that hints at dimples on her cheeks. Her eyes, however, make the most impact. They are a shining amber, with soft green highlights in the center that brighten up her entire face. They’re almost like the eyes of a child, full of excitement and wonder for the world, knowing they will conquer it.

She is beautiful. She is _Princess Alexis._ _Princess Alexis is on her farm._

“Princess! Oh, Oh Adael, are you alright?” Darcia almost bows out of reflex, but gathers herself and helps the Princess up carefully, “I am so _so_ sorry about that-”

The Princess grabs her arms and flips herself over Darcia’s shoulders, landing behind her with a hand over her mouth. Darcia is frozen and hardly breathing as the Princess drags her back, opening the door to her shed and quickly pulling her in.

“Stay quiet for me, okay?” says the Princess, pushing in the latch on the door. Darcia nods numbly, staggering into the stool beside the mass of raw fabric she was turning into her costume.

The Princess turns, staring at Darcia and studying her up and down contemplatively. 

Darcia fidgets, “Uhm. Princess? Can I-”

“Just call me Alexis,” she interrupts. “Are you Darcia Roswell?”

Darcia gapes like a fish out of water, mouth flapping uselessly before she answers, “Yes? How do you… Oh my, is it the festival? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, I-”

“Did the King send you? I _knew_ I should have asked for approval for the carnations! Was it the carnations? Maybe the primrose wreath-”

“You didn’t do anything!” Alexis exploded, “Let me speak, for Istus’ sake!”

Darcia slaps a hand over her mouth, trembling in surprise. Alexis inhales and exhales slowly, visibly trying to regain her composure.

“Okay...Okay. Just, just stay there and listen to me? Adael, this is gonna be…”

Alexis sighs, wiping some of the dirt off her face, and sits down on a stool near the door. The cramped space of the shed feels tight then, almost suffocating as Darcia shifts in her seat, leaning against the sharp edge of the table.

“My father...is planning to announce my engagement on the main day of the festival,” Alexis begins, “Considering I don’t know the man, I had a few _objections_ , to put it mildly. 

“I asked him to change his mind, and I got a choice: Either accept his ‘request’ for a spouse or prove I was skilled enough to support myself without one. I picked the latter, and he sent me here to learn how to...take care of myself? No, to be independent!” she flourishes as if expecting applause, then coughs and straightens, “So, uh...That’s it.”

Darcia bites her lip, “So I’m not in trouble.”

“Nope.”

“And the carnations are okay?”

“I guess? I’m not in charge of that, sorry.”

“But then...why were you looking for me?” Darcia asks. Alexis brightens.

“Well, since you’re the coordinator for the festival, I thought you’d be the best person to put me to work!” she says, rubbing her nose smugly, “smart, right?”

Darcia’s face probably betrays her less-than-stellar outlook, as Alexis looks at her, “What’s with that face? I’m going to pay you, sheesh!”

“Oh, really? You should have said that first, Alexis!” Darcia smiles, hopping up and putting her arm around Alexis’ shoulder with effervescence. Alexis twitches, hand coming up and gently pushing her away. Darcia is unmoved, rolling on her heels and cocking her hip. She thinks of jobs that a princess could do (and wasn’t that weird?) and comes to a realization.

“Uhm, do you have a wig?” she asks, twirling a lock of hair between her fingertips.

“No? Why would I?” Alexis blinks.

Darcia sighs, “How are you planning to work here without everyone recognizing you?”

Alexis holds her chin between her fingers. Then, “...do _you_ have a disguise I could borrow?”

Darcia nods, rolling her eyes while holding her palm out as if to say ‘wait here’. She opens the latches on the door and rushes to the main house, offhandedly waving at a napping Carter before going up to her attic. The musty air makes her eyes water, so she lifts her shirt over her nose before going to the back and digging carefully through the tiny, almost forgotten in the furthest corner. 

She pulls a long brown wig from its depths, lifting a large cloud of dust into the air. She goes down to her room, sneezing and coughing the dust from her windpipe, and picks up a brush. Darcia runs it down the length of the wig, flapping and wiping it between brushes until it looks almost presentable. She takes the chance to take her makeup set and trips down the stairs, falling out the door as fast as she can. 

Darcia finds Alexis rubbing the velvets, chiffons, and laces, cooing at the different textures and colours inside her repertoire. Instead of calling out to her, Darcia tosses the wig at her head, making it flop against her face. Alexis lets out a surprised, disgusted shriek, hand sliding across the slippery satin her fingers were rubbing and tipping her back. Darcia catches her, leaning her shoulders against her chest and lifting the wig hair from her wide, open-mouthed face. She smiles when Alexis leans forward, catching sight of the reddening of her ears and chuckling to herself when she pretends to be unbothered.

She helps Alexis put on the wig and carefully applies her makeup after viciously scrubbing her face and hair with a damp cloth to remove the traces of dirt and leaves. When asked, Alexis refuses to explain the origin of the disarray, turning a brilliant red Darcia is not quite sure is healthy.

Afterwards, Alexis borrows a dress, which she tears and transforms into some shorts, to Darcia’s horror.

(“ _Why didn’t you just ask for shorts?” “It was a cute dress! I wanted the pattern!” “_ **_Exactly!_ ** _”)_

“So, what’s the plan?” Darcia asks, rubbing rouge off the back of her neck and powders off the shins of her trousers.

Alexis hesitates, “...do you need dancers?”

“Nope. The routine is full, and I am pretty sure Emory would kill me if I touched his section.”

“Accountants?”

“Expenses are all paid for already.”

“Translators?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Is there really nothing you need that I can do?” Alexis moans, flopping onto Darcia’s bed and scratching idly under her wig.

Darcia has an idea, looking at Alexis and recalling what she’d done seven years ago.

“Can you sew?” Darcia asks, already pulling out a pair of sewing sets.

“A little? I had the maids teach me so my father wouldn’t find out when I tore Lady Duane's Candlenights gown last year, and again with Mistress Mercia’s golden scarf...What are you doing?” Alexis peeks over Darcia’s shoulder at the schedule she’s concocting.

“You,” Darcia says, “ are gonna help me make the parade costumes.”

* * *

Darcia is pleasantly surprised at the amount of help Alexis provides with the outfits they make. She can tell Alexis is satisfied with it, which is why one morning when the sun has yet to rise and the moon is still over their heads she drags her out to the apple fields, shoving gloves and boots her way.

“Why’re we…” says Alexis groggily, “Here so _early…_ ”

“You can’t convince your dad with a few pretty dresses and costumes. If you really wanna make him think you’ve got it made on your own, you have to know your way around something that you can make some _real_ money out of.”

Darcia sends a mental apology to Yadia (the local seamstress) as she pulls up the saplings she had prepared specially for today.

“First, we’ll do planting and caring for saplings,” she grunts, “Once we’re done, I’ll show you the way around a plow.”

She laughs at the stunned look on Alexis’ face and drops a bucket of specialized fertilizer into her open hands.

* * *

“Do we _have_ to wake up at this ungodly hour _every single time?_ ”

“Not really. It’s good behaviour, though!”

“Does that mean we can wake up later next time!?”

“You absolutely cannot read sarcasm, can you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Hey, stop laughing!”

* * *

“Uhm, Darcia?”

“What-OH MY GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“I was skinning a pig for tonight-”

“HOW DID YOU MAKE SUCH A BIG CUT-”

“-and my hand slipped.”

“ _THAT FAR!?”_

“Uh. Yes? Can you help me?”

“Alexis.”

“Yes?”

“Leave dinner to me from now on.”

* * *

“Hey, why won’t you let me be around Carter and Emory at the same time?”

“To keep my sanity.”

“What-”

“Just leave it. Did you finish the sash for number thirteen?”

“Oh, look at the time…”

* * *

On the day before the week of the festival, Darcia lets Alexis have a day off. She gets the expected thanks, and the slightly less expected tears, and one, completely unexpected request.

“Can you spend the day with me?” Alexis asks, wiping the tears from her eyes while grinning that smile that shows off her dimples.

For once, it’s Darcia’s turn to go into shock, “You...want to hang out with me? Isn’t that kinda counterproductive?”

Alexis laughs, setting off alarm bells in Darcia’s head, “Who knows?”

“Not me. If you’re sure you want to, then I guess I’ll take it. But I’m not paying for anything.”

“Hah, that’s fine! Meet me near Cairn Street at two?”

“Sure.” Alexis darts away, an extra skip in her step that has Darcia’s heart fluttering more than it should.

That afternoon, after hours of worrying and changing and doing and redoing her hair, Darcia wanders down Cairn Street with a less-than-ideal number of minutes to spare. With the way she’s walking, she can feel her red hair bounce up and down on the back of her head and finds herself subconsciously accentuating it.

She jumps when a familiar voice pipes up from behind her, “Having fun?”

She turns around to see Alexis, donning the same dress she’d borrowed that first day, the one she’d mutilated to the point where Darcia thought it was beyond repair. But there it is, long and flowing and almost perfectly intact. The vines that made up the crossed pattern were artfully used to hide any stitching that intruded upon the beauty of the dress itself. Darcia had to admire the obvious effort and time that went into the project, if not the amazing job accomplished.

“How did you…” Darcia smiles wide, feeling her dry lips crack under the pressure, “Really? That time with Annelise and Tatia?”

Alexis spins, fluttering the dress to its full length and attracting more than one odd look. At that Darcia laughs, snorting jovially as Alexis snatches her arm, pulling her towards the Kurios Bakery and dropping her into a chair outside.

Alexis dives into the bakery, coming back out with two round, perfectly shaped seed cakes and setting them down with two forks. 

“They’re already paid for, so we’ll leave for the carnival grounds once we’re done,” says Alexis, making Darcia choke on the first (delicious) bite she takes.

“The carnival grounds? Those are closed until the third day of the festival!” she exclaims. 

Alexis holds a finger up to her lips, looking around, “I pulled a few strings.”

These are the first of countless surprises, from a free trial of snacks to be served at the booths to solo rides in the games. Alexis takes her to the dunking tank, where Emory and Carter sit with cheerful terror on their faces. The splashing and screaming sound of both of them hitting the water is worth whatever amount of wetness she has to endure afterwards. Alexis hands her plush after plush from the games, apologizing profusely when she fails and boasting when she doesn’t. Darcia has to eventually pass some off to her, as the sheer amount almost drowns her large stature.

As the sun goes down the joy Darcia feels rises accordingly, and equal exchange of light and happiness until she can just barely see the sun over the horizon.

She’s walking down towards the entrance when she feels warm fingers wrap loosely around hers. Darcia turns to see Alexis, more bashful than she’s ever seen her, holding her hand with her eyes looking stubbornly at the ground.

“I have one last thing to show you,” she mumbles, “but you- You have to close your eyes for this one.”

Darcia’s stomach does several theatrical flips, but she agrees. Alexis, for seemingly added effect, puts her hands over Darcia’s eyes and leads her away. Darcia unwittingly collides with several branches, almost discouraging her from the entire affair, but she endures for the sake of continuity if nothing else.

They walk for what feels like hours, tripping over roots and branches until Darcia can only feel soft grass through her leather shoes. It takes her a moment to realize when Alexis finally removes her hands, as she does so wordlessly.

She opens her eyes to something that takes her breath away. Darcia had been right when she’d thought they’d walked for long, as the moon is high and she recognizes the lake in front of her as Lake Ardelia, around four hours away from town.

Right now, the lake looks like a pristine circle of black glass, perfectly reflecting the sky above with such accuracy it looks like the stars are dripping down into the earth to make a pool of starlight and colour she has never even imagined could be possible. She feels burning in the corners of her eyes as Alexis steps up beside her, gently intertwining their fingers and squeezing the palm of her hand.

“When did you-” Darcia swallows harshly, “Just...why would you do this?”

Alexis smiles, “To thank you. I know it’s been hard to deal with me on top of everything else, so I thought doing something like this was ‘appropriate’.”

“I-I gotta say, this is certainly a way to thank someone.”

Alexis shrugs, sitting down. Darcia folds her legs next to her, watching the moon slide slowly across the surface of the lake.

* * *

When Darcia wakes up the next morning, Alexis has already left for the castle. She reads the note left on the kitchen counter with an impassive look on her face and goes to the town square to oversee the beginning of the festival. 

The crowds are wild, with children weaving in and out and between the legs of the adults who watch the carousel of diverse attractions, yet refuse to partake, out of some unspeakable instinct that guides them. She sees couples, tied together with golden ribbons at the wrist, perusing all of the food stalls for the day.

Darcia heads to the changing rooms thirty minutes early and changes into her costume. The pale reds and contrasting blacks of the silk flutter almost by themselves, giving her an almost liminal appearance along with her curled hairs.

When it's her turn to exit onto the platform, she is struck by what she sees. The unmistakable look of Alexis' sandy blonde hair resting against a performer's outfit glints at her to come, and she follows with a grand smile.

They wrap themselves in the show and each other, filling the crowd with cheers and whoops. Darcia is completely enveloped in the performance, which is why she misses a tall, red-haired boy, watching her from the side.

"Found you," August says.


End file.
